


In Your Sights

by Akiko_Natsuko



Series: Mc76 [8]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anger, Angst with a Happy Ending, Broken Promises, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Lies, M/M, Missing in Action, Missions Gone Wrong, Mutual Pining, Promises, Second Chances, Serious Injuries, Slow Build, Trust, Trust Issues, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 03:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16653211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akiko_Natsuko/pseuds/Akiko_Natsuko
Summary: There was a seemingly insurmountable distance between...a Strike Commander with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and a Cowboy on a second chance and seeking a reason to fight. Time, however, makes even the greatest distances possible...at least with a little perseverance.





	1. Chapter 1

     The first time they met, it wasn’t under the best of circumstances. McCree sitting on the wrong side of an interrogation table, hands bound behind his back as his captors had learned the hard way that just because they’d caught him, it didn’t mean that he was about to admit defeat. Not that it had got him very far. In fact, all he had to show for his efforts were some fresh bruises, a split lip that was stinging something fierce as he worried at it and a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. _There was no way he was going to get out of this one._ He’d always known it was a possibility, he’d seen too much and lost too many ‘friends’ during his time with the Deadlock gang to be that naïve, but he had to admit that sitting in an Overwatch interrogation room was about as dire as it could get and he sighed as he let his head fall back. He was exhausted. It had been one hell of a firefight, and he almost wished that they’d just tossed him into jail so that he could get a nap, and he felt his eyes beginning to droop despite the situation. Which he was sure they had been waiting for because the door opened a moment later, slamming against the wall and he jolted up, eyes narrowing as he studied the two men who had entered.

    The closest one was dangerous, that was his first thought as he met the dark eyes, feeling as though the older man was dissecting him with his gaze and he automatically tried to go for his weapon, only to be reminded that he was bound and unarmed and it was a struggle not to squirm under that gaze. In an attempt to distract himself he glanced at the other man, pausing for a moment as he let his gaze linger appreciatively on blond hair, blue eyes and the almost smile when their eyes met. McCree wasn’t daft, or deaf, he had seen the news, he knew who this man was. Who both of these men and any interest he might have had in the blond faded as he realised that if he hadn’t been screwed before, he really was now and he pasted a grin on his face in an attempt to hide his fear.

“I didn’t think they’d bring in the big guns for little old me,” he drawled, sharp eyes noting the blond’s lips twitching and the way he nudged the other man who muttered something under his breath. “I didn’t cause that much trouble, did I?” He was reasonably sure he’d done quite a bit of damage in the fight, and he really didn’t want to know just what information was contained in the folder that he had just spotted the darker-skinned man holding. He was fully aware of what he had done, the blood that was on his hands and his grin faltered for a minute.

“You’re in a hell of a lot of trouble,” Reyes…McCree reminded himself, acknowledged and there was a silent, implied threat that he wouldn’t like the consequences if he tried to cause more trouble. Not that there was much he could do without his gun, and with his hands bound behind him. Besides, despite everything he didn’t have a death wish, even if his life was falling apart around him and he blinked as he realised Reyes was still talking to him. “But something tells me you know that. Which is why I’m offering you a chance, and only one chance…to join us. To make something useful of yourself.”

“You’re recruiting me?” McCree made no effort to hide to hide his disbelief, if he’d been a bit older, he might have blamed it on his hearing, but he could tell from the matching smirks they offered him that he hadn’t misheard him.

“It’s that or jail,” Reyes pointed out bluntly before his voice softened slightly. “You’re just a kid, but you can fight. Locking you away and throwing away the key would be a waste of those talents.” McCree bristled slightly at being called a kid, wondering how on earth they’d worked out the fact that he wasn’t as old as he’d claimed, and not sure whether to be pleased or not at the acknowledgement of his skills. Although what use they going to be to an organisation like Overwatch… “Talents that could be put to use here, and for the right reasons…” There was something about the way that was phrased, and the brief tension that he felt seeping into the air between the two men that set him on edge, and for half a second there was a refusal on the tip of his tongue. But he stopped himself, well aware that this offer wouldn’t be made again, and life in jail wasn’t a tempting future, and he sighed.

“I reckon I’d be an idiot to ignore an offer like that,” he admitted, about as close as he could get to accepting the offer outright, noting the approval in blue eyes and trying not to react as he kept his attention on Reyes who seemed to have relaxed slightly at his response. Still, he wasn’t about to roll over completely, a hint of mischief in his eyes as he tilted his head to the side. “But I have got one question.”

“Which is?”

“Do I get to keep my hat?” The question startled a bark of laughter out of the blond, the sound cutting through any lingering tension in the air and after a moment Reyes chuckled too, shaking his head before meeting McCree’s gaze once more.

“I think you’ll fit in just fine,” Reyes said, not answering the question, but McCree decided to take it as a ‘yes’ all the same, besides it would take a lot to part him from that hat. The older man turned to look at his companion. “I’ll take care of the paperwork since he’s going to be one of mine. Ja…Morrison, I trust you can take care of letting the kid out?” The tension was back, and McCree caught the hint of sadness in the blue eyes before it was masked and he wasn’t bold enough to question it at this point. Instead, watching as Reyes left the room without a backwards glance, before shifting his attention to the other man who was now moving towards him, tensing automatically as he stepped up behind him, at least until he felt the cuffs being removed.

“Kid.” The blond’s voice was nothing like he had expected. Nothing like the confident tone he used in press conferences, instead it was soft, containing just enough of a twang to tell McCree that he was from the Midwest. And somehow that made him a little more human, a little closer and McCree found that he was unable to muster even a flicker of irritation at the nickname this time, humming to show that he was listening. “There are a lot of different reasons to fight, even in Overwatch and Blackwatch. Everyone has their own reasons, and they don’t always agree.”

“Are you telling me I’m going to have to pick sides?” McCree demanded, relieved when his hands were finally freed, pulling them round in front of himself and starting to rub out the ache that he hadn’t noticed before, although he kept his eyes on the older man as he moved back into his line of sight.

“No.” The blond denied harshly, meeting his gaze and McCree realised that his man was just as dangerous in his own way as Reyes, although the effect was ruined when he sighed wearily. “I’m telling you to find your own reason.” It sounded almost as though he was talking to himself, but McCree found the words striking a chord with him. After all, in the Deadlock gang, that kind of thought would have been dangerous, and his breath caught as for a moment the older man rested a hand on his shoulder.  “This is your second chance, don’t waste it on anyone else.” Then the hand was gone, and with a half-smile so was his companion and McCree found himself missing the gentle touch, the words echoing in his mind and he gave a determined nod.

_Jack Morrison, I promise…I’ll find my own reason…_

****

    The second time they met wasn’t much better in McCree’s opinion. He’d managed to catch glimpses of Morrison here and there in the weeks since he’d agreed to join Overwatch, or rather Blackwatch, and he spent far more time than he should have trying to find out more about the man that had challenged him to make the most of his second chance. However, the older man was never in one place for long with his duties as Strike Commander, and Blackwatch kept McCree busy as well. Which was why their next encounter was utterly unexpected.

    McCree had been surrounded by fellow Blackwatch agents. Although ‘fellow’ might have been too friendly a term, as a large number of them had made it obvious that they weren’t happy that a criminal had been recruited, and they weren’t shy about rubbing his face in it. For the most part, he ignored them. After all, he’d heard worse when he was a rookie in the gang and more often than not those insults had been accompanied with a beating that left him black and blue, barely able to move. That was rarely a choice here because Reyes seemed to have eyes and ears everywhere, and everyone tried to avoid bringing their wrath down themselves. However, someone had managed to get them all worked up this evening, although part of it was due to the culmination of the trial against the Deadlock Gang leaders and the announcement of their sentences - life for most. It had been a shock to the system to see his old ‘friends’ on the holovid, and in a way, he could understand the suspicious looks that were coming his way.

    However, his usual method of trying to ignore them wasn’t working as they pushed into his personal space, demanding to know exactly what he’d done to wiggle out justice. Demanding to know every detail of every sordid deed he had ever done, not that he had any intention of ever telling them that. His continued silence was eventually what pushed them over the edge, and he wanted to curse himself for being caught by surprise as a fist slammed into his nose, sending him stumbling out of the seat where he’d been sat cleaning his gun and he only just managed to keep his feet. Straightening, he levelled them with a dark glare. It was easy enough to identify the culprit who was in the process of shaking out his fist, and the triumphant smirk on the man’s face made him see red, and he lunged. Lashing out and catching him squarely on the eye before there were more hands on him, forcing him back and he twisted to free himself, barely aware of the blood that was trickling down his face as he readied himself for the next attack.

_So much for keeping my head down…_

“STOP!” The sudden shout made the entire room freeze and not just because it was a familiar voice, but because of the sheer commanding force behind it. McCree was breathing heavily, one hand pressed to his bloody nose as he turned towards the disturbance. Partly relieved by the interruption because he didn’t want to screw this up, and partly infuriated that he hadn’t been able to end this himself. However, his thoughts went blank when he realised that it wasn’t Reyes or one of his underlings who had caught them, but the Strike Commander himself and he swallowed hard, cursing up a storm in his head even as he straightened. _Damn it…_ Morrison stared at him for a moment, and McCree had to fight the urge to glance down, shame colouring his cheeks and he couldn’t hold back a relieved sigh when the piercing blue eyes moved onto the rest of the group. “What is going on here?”

    McCree was honestly curious as to whether they were going, to tell the truth. Unable to imagine lying under that piercing gaze and he waited with bated breath, eyes narrowing when his opponent stepped forward, pleased to note the split skin on the man’s knuckles and the redness around his eye that would hopefully blossom into a spectacular black eye by morning. He hadn’t got off unscathed, and a sideways glance at Morrison showed told him that the older man had noticed the wounds as well, his expression turning grimmer, and McCree’s satisfaction faded just like that. The fact that he had fought back might just spell the end of his second chance…

“Commander.” The oily tone set McCree’s teeth on edge, he’d heard the other man use it more than once to worm his way out of trouble. Always successfully and his stomach churned, was Morrison going to be any different? Part of him hoped so, wanting to believe that the man who had stood there in the interrogation room and dared him to take a chance, to make a path of his own, would not be fooled by the other man, but a more cynical part of him was waiting for the axe to drop.  “This…” McCree’s opponent gestured at him with a disgusted expression, and McCree snarled silently at him, although he stopped himself from saying anything that would make the situation worse. “We can’t work with someone like him.”

“Why not?” Morrison asked, no inflection in his voice to give away what his thoughts were, although the next words were clearly a challenge. “Commander Reyes recruited him personally, do you doubt his decision?”

“No.” McCree almost snorted at that, fairly sure that there was no one in the entirety of Blackwatch and possibly Overwatch in general who would have the confidence to come out and say they disagreed with Reyes in public. Well…apart from the blond in front of him, as McCree had heard more than one tale of the two Commanders butting heads and he hadn’t forgotten the tension he’d witnessed the day that he was recruited. “But…”

“McCree?” The Cowboy jumped, stunned that the older man had remembered his name after all this time, especially as they had barely interacted for more than five minutes last time and not sure what to make of the blue eyes that were now fixed on him. It was only the fact that the others were still watching, clearly expecting the Commander to take their side that allowed him to remain straight-backed and grim-faced, his voice soft as he tilted his head in wary acknowledgement.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I take it you haven’t let your skills go rusty since joining us?” Morrison asked with a knowing smile as he tilted his head towards the gun on the table, and McCree blinked for a moment, not sure where this was going, but finally shaking his head.

“No…”

“I believe the practice range is free at the moment,” Morrison continued, and McCree began to grin as he realised what the older man was suggesting and he was already moving to retrieve his gun as the blond shifted his attention back to the other agents. “You want to see why we need him? Why we want him? Then follow us, if not, keep your mouths shut in future.”

    McCree had barely retrieved his weapon, hands deftly fitting it back together and slipping it back into its holster before Morrison was beside him, slinging an arm around his shoulder and guiding him out of the room, paying no attention to the agents trailing after them or the unhappy murmurs. Instead, the piercing blue eyes were fixed solely on him, something that he was flustered to realise was more disconcerting than it should have been and he was about to glance away when Morrison spoke, voice barely audible so that their entourage couldn’t hear them.

“How has Blackwatch been treating you, McCree?”

“It’s fine Sir,” McCree replied blandly, catching the flicker of irritation in the older man’s eyes and sighing before correcting himself. “For the most part…” _I’ve experienced worse,_ he nearly added, but he found himself unable to say it aloud, not when Morrison was frowning at his lukewarm answer. For a moment, he thought the blond was going to demand a more detailed response, but then he glanced away and asking in an even softer voice.

“Have you found your reason yet?”

“Not yet,” McCree admitted, before adding hastily. “But I’m working on it…” To be honest, he wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to find his own reason to fight. Still, the smile that met his reply told him he’d said the right thing for now, and he would deny to the end of the days the warmth that spread at the simple reply.

“Good.” 

    There was no time to say anything else as they reached the practice range, and McCree stood awkwardly off to one side as he alternated between Morrison setting up the simulation and his audience… he highly doubted any of them would start something while the older man was there, but he wasn’t about to drop his guard just yet, hand resting against his gun. _I won’t let you have another free shot, even if it means losing this second chance._ “Headshots only!” The shout startled him out of his thoughts, and it was the only warning he got before the simulation started, and he growled under his breath even as he drew his gun and took aim. He recognised the terrain, it was one of the simulations he’d done several times, and a small, hopeful part of him wondered if Morrison had known that when choosing this one, but he pushed that thought away. Along with his awareness of his audience; until there was nothing but him, the gun in his hand and the poor training bots that fell quickly to his shots.

     He had spent long hours practising when he was younger. His age meaning that he had to learn hard and fast to keep his head above water, and it was a skill that he doubted he’d ever be able to forget now. It was soaked into his skin along with the blood he’d shed. His expression darkened, hands moving on automatic as he reloaded the gun before firing, not even bothering to check he’d made the ‘kill’ before moving on because that was what he was good at. Killing. _Is that the talent I’m supposed to be using? Is there really a good reason for that?_ Those kinds of thoughts had never plagued him before, and he hated it, and he was disappointed a couple of minutes when the room was bathed in the pale blue light that indicated the conclusion of the simulation. Because now he had nothing to help distract himself from those unwelcome thoughts. Well apart from the pleased expression on the Commanders face as he brought up the tally, all enemies eliminated in a matter of minutes, and all head-shots as requested, a fact that sent murmurs through the audience.

“Once you can beat that, then you can try and protest his presence,” Morrison spoke clearly, a hard edge to it that said he wouldn’t accept any arguments/ Although to be fair it didn’t look as though there were going to be any, the worse dissenters slipping quietly from the room, before the others quietly followed until it was just McCree, and Morrison left in the room. The older man closing the distance between them and resting a hand on his shoulder, just as he had done back in the interrogation cell. “Good job.” The praise startled him, and he could only blink in surprise as Morrison patted his shoulder before heading for the door, his hand slowly creeping up to rest against his shoulder, fingers curling against the spot where Morrison’s hand had been.

_Good job. When was the last time someone said that to me? And why…why is it him?_

 


	2. Chapter 2

    There was a weight resting on his back, rather than the sharp pain that he had been expecting in his chest, and he blinked, grimacing at the taste of blood and mud in his mouth. _What happened?_ He had a perfectly clear memory of the gun that had been levelled at him, and the realisation that he wasn’t going to be able to reload or dodge in time, and then something had slammed into him. Grunting he shifted, stilling when he heard a groan from above him and cautiously he tilted his head, eyes widening as he took in the familiar shock of blond hair and the distinctive blue coat. With increased urgency, he wiggled his way out from underneath the other’s body, scrambling for his gun as he glanced around for any imminent danger and huffing out a relieved breath when he realised that the fight had moved away from them for the time being.

“Sir?” Gingerly he shook Morrison, freezing as the action earned him another groan from the older man, and he bit his lip. He knew enough about the older man to know that this wouldn’t be enough to kill him, but still…this was the first time he had been on a mission that had included Overwatch forces as well as Blackwatch, let alone with Morrison being there and he’d screwed up this badly. Grimacing, and trying not to think about Gabriel was going to say when he found out about all this, he cautiously turned Morrison over. Attempting to recall all the first aid training that had been drummed into his head, panic making it much harder than it should’ve been, and he jolted when he felt a hand gripping his arm, drawing his attention to the other man’s face, and he swallowed thickly as he met blue eyes.

“McCree…?” Morrison was blinking at him, grimacing as the visor over his left eye flickered violently and irritably batting it out of the way. “Help me up.” McCree hesitated for a moment, the sight of the blood staining the side of the older man’s jacket making him wary of moving him, but the blue eyes were calm. Silently demanding his obedience and with a sigh he moved to obey, carefully wrapping an arm around him and helping him stagger to his feet. A low hiss was the only sign of how much it must’ve hurt, and McCree felt his admiration for Morrison jumping even higher. He had a feeling that wound like that would have had most people refusing to move, and he was fairly sure that it wasn’t just due to the enhancements from the SEP, because there was a stubborn set to Morrison’s jaw as he took a step away to support his own weight that spoke of barely restrained pain. “Are you all right?”

“I…” McCree’s voice caught for a moment, catching the way the older man wobbled for a minute before steadying himself and frowning. _Why are you worrying about me?_ He didn’t dare voice that question aloud though, instead taking a deep breath and replying softly.  “I’m fine. Thank you, Sir…” His guilt must’ve shown on his face though because Morrison sighed, rubbing a weary hand across his face before straightening.

“Get that look off your face McCree.”

“But…” McCree wasn’t a fool, he knew that his skills were useful to Blackwatch, and that was why he had been given this second chance, but he also knew that he wasn’t a valuable enough asset for the Strike Commander to be risking his life to protect. He opened his mouth with the intention of pointing this out when there was a sudden movement behind Morrison, and he immediately went for his gun, refusing to mess up again. Only to find himself coming up short when he found himself staring down the barrel at his own commander, freezing at the dark glare Reyes was giving him and slowly lowering the weapon although he didn’t holster it, aware that he could still hear fighting in the distance.

“You idiot,” Reyes growled, and McCree wasn’t sure which of them he was addressing, the dark glare piercing him for another minute before Reyes whirled on Morrison with a growl. “When are you going to learn that you can’t keep throwing yourself in harm’s way?”

“Careful Reyes, you almost sound like you care,” Morrison muttered, and McCree shifted awkwardly as he felt the tension escalating between them, and despite the commander’s earlier reassurance, he felt another apology on the tip of his tongue, after all, he was the one to blame here. “Besides, you’re the one that taught me to always look after the men.”

“That was a long time ago,” Reyes replied, but to McCree’s relief, he felt some of the tension bleeding away. Although what relief he had been feeling disappeared when he caught the pained look in Morrison’s eyes, but before he could try and summon up the courage to do something about it, Reyes had shifted his attention back to him, and he automatically snapped to attention under the dark gaze. “Get him across to medical and join the rest of the team in mopping up the area.” For a moment, McCree couldn’t believe his ears, fairly sure that there was no way he would be trusted with the Strike Commander’s safety after this, but Reyes was staring at him expectantly, and he snapped himself out of his shock before he could get into more trouble and nodded.

“Understood.”

“But…” Instead, it was Morrison who protested, more out of stubbornness than anything McCree realised when the older man straightened and promptly lost whatever little colour he’d still had. McCree was immediately at his side and steadying him, touch cautious, wary of causing more harm and highly aware of who he was helping.

“Let me help.” It was more of a plea than an order. He needed to do this, needed to do something to make up for the fact that he had screwed up. He paused for a moment pinned by the sharp, blue eyes and waiting to be pushed away, blinking when after an abnormally long moment Morrison nodded and actually lent some of his weight on him. “Okay, here we go…” He was highly aware of who was on his shoulder, and Reyes watching from behind them and yet as they limped forward, and Morrison began to lean more and more on him, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of something. Relief…pride…awe? He wasn’t sure, and he wasn’t about to mention it aloud, burying it to consider later and instead focusing on the Strike-Commander’s ragged breathing.

_One step at a time…don’t screw this up._

**

      It was evening the next day before McCree managed to slip away again to check on the Strike Commander. He had managed to get Morrison back to their base and hand him over to Doctor Ziegler in medical, just in time too because the older man had collapsed the moment he had realised he was safe. And the last thing McCree had seen before being chased off was blue eyes closing, and what remaining colour Morrison had draining from his face.

    It had made focusing on clearing the rest of the area nearly impossible, and he had lost count of the number of sharp reprimands that had been barked in his direction. He had absorbed each one. They were better than that weight across his back. Better than someone else getting caught out because he had screwed up. Still, it had been a relief when he had finally been relieved of duty an hour ago, and while his first thought had been to rush to medical, he had at least taken the time for a shower. Washing away the dirt and blood that had accumulated in the last forty-eight hours and pushing back the exhaustion threatening to pull him under.

    Slipping into the medical tent, he greeted the men from his own unit that hadn’t been as lucky as him, although there were no major injuries this time. Brushing off their curious stares and questions he headed for the far corner where a makeshift curtain had been erected, only to find himself hesitating when he reached it, not sure that he would be welcomed.

“Come in!” A firm voice ordered just as he was about to turn and scuttle away, and he sighed, realising that his shadow must’ve been visible through the curtain. Gathering his courage, he opened the curtain just enough to slip through and then closed it behind him, certain that the Strike Commander wouldn’t want the rest of the men to gawk at him. “McCree.” He flinched at the warm greeting, the last thing he felt he deserved but he still lifted his head to study the older man, paling slightly as he took in the array of machines that Morrison was attached to.

“Ignore this,” Morrison ordered as he followed his gaze, lips twisting into a wry grin. “Angela is very thorough. Too thorough some might say.” McCree couldn’t stop his lips from quirking upwards as he caught the quiet grumble, the arguments between the doctor and their Strike Commander were legendary. He also knew that even Reyes went out of his way to avoid drawing her ire. Thankfully, he had so far been lucky enough to only spend a short amount of time in her domain, and he would never have dared to argue with her as Morrison was rumoured to. “Are you all right?”

    McCree froze, just as startled by the question as he had been the day before and slowly he shook his head, no longer able to look at the older man as he blurted. “I’m sorry.” The forgiveness he had been shown in the field feeling a million miles away at the moment, especially when he was faced with the reality of Morrison’s injury and he ducked his head. _I screwed up._  It had been one thing to brush it off in the heat of battle where every gun was needed, but now…now he was sure that he was going to be reprimanded if not worse and his hands clenched at his side because he didn’t want to lose this.

“McCree! MCCREE!” It was only when Morrison’s voice bordered on a bellow that he realised that the older man had been trying to get his attention for a while, and he swallowed thickly, forcing himself to look up, expecting to find anger and disappointment. Not exasperation and understanding? He blinked, not sure what to do or say and caught by surprise when Morrison sighed before patting the space on the edge of his bed. “Sit.” It was clearly an order and McCree didn’t have it in him to be disobedient now, staggering across on trembling legs and settling into the spot, carefully leaning forward so that he wasn’t touching the Commander.  “This wasn’t your fault.”

“But…” Whatever he had been expecting that wasn’t even close and he couldn’t help but protest, falling silent when Morrison shook his head, blue eyes stern as he lifted his finger.

“You made a mistake, I won’t deny that.” McCree winced at that but nodded, there was no point in denying that much, but Morrison wasn’t done, and his voice softened as he continued. “But we’ve all made them.” There was pain in that admission and longing, and McCree was reminded of the interaction between the two Commanders from the night before, and not for the first time he wondered what had happened between two men which according to all accounts had been the best of friends at some point.   “And this,” Morrison pointed at his injury, before gesturing at where they were. “I was the one who made the decision to cover you. That decision is solely on my shoulders, not yours. Understand?”

    _No,_ McCree wanted to say. He didn’t understand, because in his experience those in charge always looked to blame those beneath them and yet it seemed like both Reyes and Morrison were determined to prove him wrong. Beyond that, he wasn’t sure that he was ready to accept the forgiveness that was being offered, and yet when he met Morrison’s gaze, he realised that the other man wasn’t going to let it drop until he did and he sighed.

“Yes, Sir…”

_No, but I’ll try…_

****

    It was a couple of months before he saw Morrison again after that disastrous mission. They had passed occasionally in the corridor and greeted one another amicably enough, but McCree was busy with training and missions, and the older man was just busy.

    Which was why he was surprised when he slipped into one of the Overwatch Training rooms after discovering that all the Blackwatch ones were in use, to find it already in use…and not just by another agent, but by Morrison himself who seemed utterly engrossed in taking out each unfortunate bot that dared raise its head in the simulated scene in front of them. McCree knew that he should’ve have retreated at once, but there was something about the intense expression on Morrison’s face and the hunger in the blue eyes as he sighted on each target that intrigued him and he found himself lingering, the smell of pulse ammunitions curling around him and reminding him of that mission. Although here there was no danger and he was being reminded just how dangerous this man could be.

“Good evening, McCree.” The greeting came suddenly as the simulation ended and he jolted, colouring as he realised that Morrison must’ve been aware of him all along, swallowing as he found blue eyes fixed on him, a small smile tugging at the older man’s lips.

“Good evening,” he managed to blurt after a moment, ducking his head and wishing that he had his hat to hide his embarrassment even as he took a step backwards. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt I was just looking for somewhere to train…I’ll leave you in peace.”

    He had almost reached the door when Morrison’s voice rang out again. “Wait!” Slowly McCree turned back to look at him, caught by surprise when Morrison gestured to the simulation with a disarming grin and more than a hint of challenge in his gaze. “There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

“But…”

“Don’t fancy the competition?” Morrison taunted, and this time there was a definite challenge in his voice, and despite himself, McCree felt himself grinning as he took a step back into the room.

“Is that a challenge, Sir?”

“If you’re up to it,” Morrison replied with a shrug, already turning back to set up the next simulation but McCree caught the approving nod and pleased smile when he stepped up alongside him, Peacekeeper already firmly in his hand.

“I think I am.”

**

    After that night, McCree had found himself encountering the older man more and more often. Usually in the training rooms, and he wasn’t about to admit that sometimes he ventured up to the Overwatch training ranges on purpose, although he eventually realised that more than once Morrison had shown up on the Blackwatch for no reason. He never really knew what to do or say during those encounters, but it transpired that training was a great way to break the ice, especially as they soon established a friendly competition that escalated with each meeting.

    It was a couple of months before they added penalties, with the loser having to treat the victor to a late-night snack in the commissary, with both taking their turns in having to pay. Outside the range, and without the ring of gunfire in their ears they began to talk. It started with discussions of tactics and weapons and more than once McCree had wondered if he was being tested, and how he was doing. Although whenever he suggested something that he realised would never work, he found himself being gently guided towards a better solution, ideas that he stored away for use in the field. Later it became chatter about their days, minor amusements or complaints as they both dealt in classified information and it was better not to broach those walls. And later still little personal anecdotes were shared, Morrison sharing tales of childhood escapades with siblings that had never thought their little brother would become a soldier let alone Strike Commander. McCree had fewer happy memories, but he shared what he could, tales of making pancakes with his grandmother, the day he had got stuck in a tree but refused to admit he was stuck until it was dark and his mother had to call the fire brigade to get him down.

And at some point, in the safety of those moments, they had become Jack and Jesse.

****

Pain.

     McCree thought that he’d known pain before, after all, he’d been with the Deadlock Gang and Blackwatch long enough to get his fair share of injuries - bullet wounds, stab wounds, concussions, broken bones and more. He’d run the gauntlet at one time or another, but none of that compared to the sheer agony that his world had narrowed to as he circled around his arm, or rather what remained of it, tears leaking free as he gasped for breath.

_It hurts…_

“Kid, damn it, Kid…” It took him a few moments to realise that the frantic voice was addressing him and that there were warm hands on his shoulder trying to turn him over and he flinched. _It hurts._ He didn’t want to move for fear of the pain. He didn’t want to acknowledge who that voice belonged to, because he had well and truly screwed up this time, but the hand on his shoulder was insistent for all its gentleness, and there was a note of fear in the words that followed that forced him to obey. “Look at me.” His movements were slow and cautious, pain lancing up his arm with the slightest shift and he had to bite his lip to stop himself crying out… _it hurts._

    Morrison was crouched beside him, uniform covered in filth and what looked worryingly like blood, a nasty gash on his temple slowly dyeing blond hair red, but it didn’t seem to be bothering him, his gaze intense as he watched McCree.

“S-Sir?”

“Jack,” the older man corrected. His tone softening now that he had McCree’s attention and a weak attempt at a smile tugging at his lips, at least until McCree’s eyes threatened to close a moment later, and suddenly he was being shaken again and suddenly it was the Strike Commander who was barking orders at him, tone harsh and commanding.  “Keep those eyes open.” McCree struggled to obey, the months of cautiously spending time with the older man making him more inclined to listen that he would have been because it hurt. Gods, did it hurt and unconsciousness would be a welcome escape, but Morrison was staring down at him, demanding that he stay awake, and instead he let out a bitter, breathless laugh.

“I really screwed up this time, didn’t I?”

“You’re still alive, aren’t you?” Morrison demanded, and McCree blinked, startled by the way the older man made it sound as though that was the only thing that mattered. As though he hadn’t screwed up in the middle of an important operation, as though he was distracting the Strike Commander from everything else that was going around him…and there was something in the brilliant blue eyes that were now fixed on his that demanded an answer, and he managed a tiny nod. “Then no, so you need to stay awake!”

   _I didn’t screw up?_ Somehow that question and his confusion, his thoughts turning over and over were enough to keep him conscious, aided by Morrison’s voice, the older man talking to him about anything and everything between barked commands to stay awake until the Medical team descended on them. He was vaguely aware of Dr Ziegler being there, sure that he had heard her bickering with Jack and then her attention was on him, hands gentle as she nudged Morrison’s hands off his arm, hands that he hadn’t even been aware of and he immediately made a noise of protest. He didn’t have a right to demand the older man’s attention, not when he had screwed up, and they were still in the middle of an operation, but he wanted it, and he nearly wept with relief when Jack’s face appeared above him once more.

“You’re going to be okay, Jesse.” That was new, using his name in the field and McCree settled and nodded, wanting to believe him. “I’ll see you back at base, okay?” He wanted to protest, not wanting to be separated from the one thing that had been keeping him grounded, the pain already seeming to peak now that his thoughts were wondering and he could already feel himself starting to slip towards unconsciousness.  Sheer desperation lending him the strength to speak again, even though he was embarrassed by the neediness in his voice…the plea that he shouldn’t have allowed himself to make, especially in front of others, Ziegler’s sharp gaze darting between them.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

**

    The next few days had been a blur of pain and exhaustion for McCree, and yet thing had stood out clearly beyond the sickening, burning pain and the realisation of what he had lost. And that was Jack. He had woken the next day, mouth dry and back arching as the pain in the stump of his arm had registered, to find the older man sat beside him, the haggard look on his face betraying the fact that he hadn’t slept. Yet his hands had been steady as he had stopped McCree from moving enough to hurt himself, holding a straw to his lips to let him soothe the dryness in his mouth, voice soft as he calmed him until a nurse had appeared with pain medication.

    He hadn’t managed to say anything that time, passing out with relief as the pain medication got to work, and yet all he had been able to think as he slipped under again was that Jack had kept his promise.

    It had been the same every time he had woken after that, even as the days stretched out into a week and then a fortnight. Sometimes he would find Jack napping in the uncomfortable looking chair that wasn’t built for a man his side, or bent over paperwork or talking urgently over the communicator, but he was always there. He didn’t call McCree a screw-up. Didn’t judge him when he broke down and wept at the realisation that his arm was really gone, didn’t flinch when that grief turned to anger that more often than not was turned on Jack because he had been the one to keep him alive even though he was ‘useless.’ It was Jack who bore it all with understanding and patience, who didn’t flinch at the angry words, who always came back when McCree begged him to go away. And it was Jack, not Reyes who had visited him every day who was the one to tell him that once he was stronger and the wound healed completely that he could be fitted with a prosthetic. That he could still be part of Blackwatch, could still fight, if that was what he had wanted.

    The hesitation in that last bit had floored him, as had Jack quietly telling him he would understand if he wanted to leave. That he had given more than he needed too, and that he was free if that was what he had wanted.

    He had been left alone then, just when he had most needed a distraction from his thoughts. Staring at the ceiling, his good arm moving across to cup the bandaged stump, pressing down enough to send pain lancing up it, bringing tears to his eyes. Yet it was a reminder that he was alive, and with Jack’s offers echoing through his mind, a reminder that he had choices now, that he wasn’t going to be tossed aside. That he wasn’t useless. There was a flicker of doubt then, would he be able to be what he had been before?  It was when those darkening thoughts registered that it dawned on him that he already had his answer about one thing, that not once had he considered using his injury as an out. Besides, where would he go?

    Slowly he sat up, still feeling off balance when he moved and slowly slipped out of bed and padding across to the small shower room attached to his room. Slipping inside he closed the door behind him, taking a deep breath before moving to the sink and the mirror that hung over it, a mirror that he had avoided looking at over the last couple of weeks.  McCree’s arm was aching, sore from his earlier grip and it was trembling slightly as he lifted his gaze to the mirror and took in his reflection. He seemed smaller, diminished. Normally, tan skin was pale, and there were shadows under his eyes that spoke of the nightmares that haunted his sleep and the thoughts that kept him awake late into the night. But there was a glint of something more in his eyes as he forced himself to glance down at the stump, to really take it in as best he could with the bandages covering it.

    It looked foreign, as though it wasn’t part of him and yet when he watched his reflection reach out and touch it and felt the pain from the poke he knew that it was. He closed his eyes trying to imagine what a prosthetic would look like, what it would feel like. He knew that it would be the best, he had seen the work that Ziegler’s team had done on other agents, but he had never thought he would be one of them. He sighed, opening his eyes again and staring at his reflection. Could he do it? He knew that he couldn’t leave, even if they would let him go, but he wasn’t sure that he could stay either. He had screwed up, he had lost so…

_Have you found your reason yet?_

     Jack’s voice, questioning but not judging was so clear in his mind that he had to check the room behind him to make sure that the older man hadn’t returned. He hadn’t, and McCree shook his head, before turning his attention back to his reflection, gaze returning to his arm. He remembered more of that day than he cared to, remembered Jack shouting at him to stay awake, telling him that as long as he was alive everything else was fine, and promising to be there when he woke up. He had kept his word. He had made a promise that McCree should never have asked of a Strike Commander, without hesitation and he had kept it. Slowly he lifted his head, meeting his own gaze, tawny eyes sharpening with determination as he realised that in losing his arm and the aftermath, he had found his answer.

_I found my reason, Jack._


End file.
